Scars
by NarniaLover303
Summary: Caspian's views on the Pevensie's scars


Just a little one-shot that I wrote when I was sick. Please enjoy!

Disclaimer: If I wrote the Chronicles of Narnia, then I probably wouldn't be writing a fanfiction for the Chronicles of Narnia.

Caspian's Point of View

We were walking towards the How when I first noticed a scar. Peter had rolled up the sleeves of his tunic, and I noticed that there was a multitude of thin lines on his arms. They mad a crisscrossing pattern all the way up his arm. They were marks of a warrior, and I wasn't surprised to see them on the High King. He must have been in many great battles. That was one of the many aspects of Peter that I envied greatly. I had no scars whatsoever. No marks of bravery, no stories to tell of greatness. There was no way to let people know that I was a warrior. When people looked at Peter, they automatically knew that this was a person of great power who had seen many terrible things, and had shed blood for the country that he loved. Guilt tore at me. Peter's arms were practically mutilated from protecting his country, and what had I done? I had helped to tear it down. I didn't ask about High King Peter the Magnificent's scars. Because I knew that he would hate me for doing so.

The second time that I saw scars on one of the royals, it was when Edmund went swimming. We were taking a break, and the King had discovered a small pond that was wonderfully cool. He was getting out when the sunlight hit his back. I actually gasped when I saw it. I knew that Edmund would have gone in to battle alongside his brother, but I never expected him to be that badly scarred. The stories always told of Peter protecting his siblings. I guess there were some things that he couldn't protect them from. There was a puckered white scar that went from his navel all the way up to his chin. It looked as if someone had tried to cut him in half. There was also a strangely purple circle in the middle of his stomach. If the old stories were true, then that must have been where the White Witch had stabbed him with the remains of her magic wand. I didn't ask about King Edmund the Just's scars. Because I knew that it would hurt him too much.

The third time that I noticed a scar was when Susan and I were practicing archery at the How. She was pulling back an arrow and her dress sleeve slipped down her arm. Instead of the long lines that her brothers had from sword fights, she had short little lines all along her arm. Arrow wounds. Susan wasn't one for battles, but apparently she had been in some. She had the wounds of a person who fought with a bow and arrow. And one who got shot at in return. Susan had less scars than her brother's, but she still had plenty. I wish that I had the courage to ask about Queen Susan the Gentle's scars. But I didn't. Because I knew that she wouldn't tell me even if I did.

The fourth time that I saw a scar surprised me so much that I actually inquired about it.

"Your were in battles?" I asked Lucy.

All of the stories told of Lucy as the healer. There wasn't a single account of her fighting in a battle. Lucy turned around and nodded. "Yes. I was. Quite a few actually." I was stunned. This thirteen year old girl in front of me had been in battles? Seen people die? And then I remembered that she hadn't always been thirteen. I stared at the line that circled her leg.

"How did you-?"

"Get hurt?" she finished for me.

I nodded. "The first year of our reign, I made a very stupid mistake. My brothers were heading off to battle, and I wanted so badly to go along. But they wouldn't let me. So I stole men's clothes, and an extra pair of armor, and pretended to be part of the army. A second before the fight started, I revealed myself. My brothers tried everything they could to get me out of there before the battle began. But by that time, it was much too late. The army was on us. I was killing enemies with my knives, I'm quite talented with them, when a minotaur came out of nowhere. He pulled out a knife, and before my brothers or I could do anything about it, I had a dagger through my leg."

I winced. That didn't sound at all pleasant. She continued though, with a certain pride in her voice.

"I had forgotten my cordial at Cair Paravel, a mistake that almost cost me my life. My brothers carried me back to camp, and my leg was treated. Still, I very nearly died. Luckily, we got back to Cair Paravel in time, and a few drops of my cordial healed me right up. After that, I was allowed to go into battle. I was trained in knife throwing, archery, and swordsmanship so that I could hold my own."

When she was done telling me about her leg, she showed me every other scar that she had. I asked about Queen Lucy the Valiant's scars, because I knew that she was proud of them.

Fine

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